


The Heart of the Red Queen

by Oreneta



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Curses, Inspired by Pirates of the Caribbean, Lots of tentacles but not in a sexual way, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sea Monsters, Shipwrecks, Sort Of, mer!jonathan - Freeform, mermaid au, more like fish people
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26498137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oreneta/pseuds/Oreneta
Summary: Jonathan Reid, former Royal Navy soldier and doctor, travels to the Caribbean to start anew. What he didn't expect was for old sailor's tales to be true, and to be unwillingly thrown into a sea full of monsters and curses.Heart torn from fleshA nightmare beginsA dream once fulfilled awakens anewA blight and a blessing, a choice to be madeChasing after a stone,Three kingdoms beneath the wavesUnder the domain of the Red Queen,Fury consumes both beast and menHear the cry once againSing the song once againA call to bring the tale to an end
Relationships: Geoffrey McCullum/Jonathan Reid
Comments: 6
Kudos: 51





	1. Cry from the Abyss

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to all the crew of the Pembroke Hospital discord server for enabling me to start yet another multichapter fic! (And enabling my weird ideas)
> 
> And thanks to you for clicking this fic! I hope you enjoy!

The wind was on their side. They would reach Port Royal by the end of the day. Jonathan read his saved letters under the morning sea sun. They were from his mother and sister, dating back to his enlistment to the Royal Navy. Although it was half a decade ago, he still cherished them. He reread through his sister's marriage and birth of her first son. Oh how he had wished to have lived them, but duty called. At least he had the chance to see them upon his return. Until duty called again. 

There was only one letter left in the pile, from six months ago. In this one, he was offered a position as a physician. In the Caribbean. A far cry from London.

Jonathan was not a soldier, he had taken enough lives during his service. He had studied to be a healer, be it in his home country, or in remote lands. He packed the letters back in their small, wooden chest. He would miss home, but he didn't want to refuse the chance to build a new one.

There was a cry of distant seagulls. Further proof that they would soon end their journey, and Jonathan would start a new one.

Lunch was certainly lacking, a consequence of weeks without finding any port. Still, Jonathan had eaten worse. He was simply worried that any of the sailors would start showing signs of scurvy. He went to sleep with a growling stomach. Or at least he tried to. It could have been minutes or it could have been hours that Jonathan spent hearing the floorboards creak and the crew snore loudly. That wasn't the reason he was restless, he was most definitely used to that; it was the nightmares. Whenever he seemed to fall asleep, his thoughts drifted off to memories of battle. He still vividly remembered the night they were all awoken by canons, how many of his crewmates, his friends, never had the chance to open his eyes. That night they almost sank. That night he had been unable to save anyone.

Jonathan put on his boots and went for some fresh air on deck. 

It took him too long to realise the unnatural silence that had settled over. It was as if the waves had frozen in place. He looked up at the sky, but no stars were to be seen. When he looked back down, everything was red.

“I must be losing my mind.” Jonathan muttered to himself. 

The water had the same hue as blood, and it almost came as a surprise that it didn’t reek as such. The sky was not much better. What had once been calm and clear was now a coagulation of burgundy clouds, spiralling into one point. 

Turns out he wasn’t the only one seeing that. The sailors in charge of the night shift had all gathered alongside him, all baffled by the image in front of them.

“A hurricane?” Someone asked. But no, Jonathan had seen many and they didn't look like that. Neither did thunderstorms.

“What is that red light in the distance?” Another sailor wondered. Jonathan regretted leaving his spyglass by his cot. And now he was too stunned, paralysed by whatever was in front of him, for his feet to respond. 

“It’s a ghost ship! It’s coming for us!” A third one shouted. Before anyone could stop him, he ran to the captains quarters. The other two men panicked right after, running below deck to warn everyone else. Jonathan simply stared, dumbfounded.

Ghost ships, monsters, cursed treasures. He’d heard many a story during his travels, tales superstitious sailors would share in their moments of delirium. No such thing was real. And yet he had no scientific explanation for the red light that brought sky and sea together in a maelstrom. He had just wanted some fresh air.

The captain was soon barking orders to his crew. The sails were fully raised and the cannons all loaded. All of it for naught when the ship was inevitably pulled by the spiralling water as the red light loomed on the horizon. Jonathan’s legs worked on his own, carrying him below deck. He rummaged through his bag, and stopped when his hands felt the touch of a familiar wooden chest. He had seen many fellow sailors clutch at their mementos from their loved ones when the situation was grim. Jonathan wouldn’t be like one of them. He left the chest on the mattress and searched for his first aid kit. It had bandages, cleaning alcohol, and various tools that had helped many a time during battle. Something glinted right below. It was his spyglass. He hung it on his belt before closing the bag.

When he ran back upstairs, he saw they were approaching the center of the maelstrom, and the light had become a defined shape. It was a ship, or rather a poor imitation of it. Its silhouette was shifting ever so slightly, as if made out of something Jonathan could only define as floating water. Or perhaps blood, given the colour. The light pulsated within its form, in a beat reminiscent of a heart. It almost seemed to match Jonathan’s racing pulse.

The floor was no longer steady. Barrels below deck crashed and crackled, and men struggled to stay standing. Those who didn’t, ended up falling aboard. Jonathan got ahold of a rope tied to the main mast. His sights were still set on the ghastly vision through the spyglass. There was a woman on the phantasmagoric deck. She almost looked… corporeal, made out of flesh and bone. From that distance, Jonathan couldn’t tell what she was doing except just stand there, completely frozen. 

The ship made a sudden jump and Jonathan dropped the spyglass. He had no time to pick it up. He had already seen enough, and there were sailors that needed his help. He helped a sailor with a broken leg walk below deck, where he cleaned the wound and bandaged it. He wouldn’t be able to reset the bone in their current situation, but at least he wouldn’t bleed to death.

There was another loud crash, this time coming from the hull. Tentacles as wide and long as the masts rose up from the crimson waters. They surrounded the ship and coiled around it. More tentacles, too many for a cephalopod, rose up and started grabbing whichever sailor or item they could find. A sailor jumped down and slid over the wet floorboards until he reached the stairs. He was saved from the tentacles by just a mere second. Another man following behind tried the same technique, but didn't have the same luck. Jonathan and the other two men below tried to pull him away from the tentacle grabbing his waist. Unfortunately, the tentacle was much stronger than any of them and they could only watch in horror as the screaming sailor was dragged into the sea.

Before anyone could realise it, the tentacles had completely gripped on the ship and were crushing it like a handful of wet clay. It was no longer safe inside the ship, where the floor and ceiling were starting to crumble and water was slowly filling the chamber. Jonathan stayed behind to help the sailor with the injured leg crawl up on deck. The stairs caved in right under their feet. Splinters stabbed at his back and legs. A wooden beam fell atop him. 

Jonathan had lost sight of the injured man. He could only see water and debris surrounding him and pushing him down. He needed air. Swimming upwards, he was met with the ceiling and a pocket of air. His head hurt, and brushing his temple he came to realise he was bleeding. His medical supplies were lost in the wreck. The water was rising extremely fast. He needed to get out for any chance to survive. 

Jonathan took a lungful and dived back in. He found a gap between two pieces of shattered hull to escape through. From outside the ship, he had the chance to see what the tentacles were part of.

The creature was far from any octopus, the many appendages being simply an extension of what seemed to be its head. It had many eyes of varying sizes spread around its body, all of them looking in different directions. The rest of his body seemed vaguely fishlike, but its fins were malformed and uneven, and growing in places where they didn’t make any sense. Its overall size was roughly that of a sperm whale. It was an abomination.

“Lord save me.” He thought to himself, despite not being a believer in such higher beings. He couldn’t possibly think of anyone else to save him now. And if such a monster wasn’t a product of the lack of oxygen, perhaps legends and gods weren’t that far from reality. 

His lungs burnt for air, and so he focused his faltering strength into reaching the surface. He grabbed onto a wooden beam for flotation. It actually turned out to be the main mast. There was nothing of the ship left, and the ghost ship was also gone. It was only survivors and whatever remained against the rage of the sea. And there was no man who could resist the powerful current of the water spiralling towards the monster's gaping mouth.

“I can’t die yet!” He could now see its teeth with absolute clarity. Rows and rows of sharp teeth not unlike a shark, but arranged in a circle like that of a giant leech. “I have so much left to accomplish!”

Jonathan swam against the current. Anything to delay the inevitable. Water slashed against his face, filling his nostrils and mouth and blocking air flow. He felt himself slowly lose consciousness and succumb to the darkness before the creature could fully swallow him. It was just him fighting against the ocean, his limbs pedalling on their own as despair filled every corner of his mind.

Then he awoke.

He was surrounded by a sea of black. He couldn’t feel his body, but his consciousness was still there. Silence sheltered him, no longer a warning to an incoming threat, but rather a reprieve. A calm after the storm. He could hear a heart beating in the distance. Whether it was his or someone else's, he couldn't tell.

A soft baritone whispered in his ears, at first unintelligible, but growing clearer.

_ Heart torn from flesh _

_ A nightmare begins _

_ A dream once fulfilled awakens anew _

_ A blight and a blessing, a choice to be made _

_ Chasing after a stone, _

_ Three kingdoms beneath the waves _

_ Under the domain of the Red Queen, _

_ Fury consumes both beast and men _

_ Hear the cry once again _

_ Sing the song once again _

_ A call to bring the tale to an end. _


	2. Hospital by the Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween!   
> So this chapter I had actually finished about a week ago, but then some irl issue appeared and I couldn't bring myself to edit it until now. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy!

It wasn’t the lull of the waves or the warm sunlight what brought Jonathan back from the realm of the sleeping. Rather, it was the constant pecking of the seagulls, greedy for a quick meal in whichever form they could find. Jonathan groaned as he swatted the birds away. His head hurt. It felt heavy and whenever he opened his eyes the world spiralled around him. Signs that pointed towards a concussion, caused sometime during the shipwreck or after it, no doubt.

The shipwreck. Memories of red spectres and colossal tentacles flowed back into his mind. Had it all been real? Just a product of his head injury? Regardless, he had survived it, and he was now adrift with only a barrel keeping him afloat. Alive, but not for long if no one came to his rescue soon. 

He was suffering from blood loss, and covered in cuts and scratches that could easily become infected unless properly cleaned. Despite being in warm waters, keeping body heat was proving to be a struggle and his limbs were starting to suffer the consequences. It was increasingly hard to keep holding onto the barrel.

Jonathan floated helplessly. To try and swim would mean spending his remaining energy, and he was starving. It was only him and the never ending blue. Feeling his mouth dry, taking a sip of saltwater was tempting. He probably would have done that, hadn't he known the many ways it would have made his situation worse. 

He dozed on and off as time passed. It was hard to tell how many hours he had been drifting, or where the currents had been taking him. When he finally saw a ship, he thought it was a mirage at first.

Jonathan waved and shouted until his throat gave out. Fortunately for him, the ship saw him and veered to his rescue. He was given a warm blanket and a meal. The captain then called him to his quarters and asked him about the shipwreck.

It was difficult for Jonathan to remember. Surely, most of it should have been a dream, but he didn't have any logical explanation. 

"I received a head injury, so I'm afraid my memory is quite fuzzy." He excused himself. "We got caught in an unexpected maelstrom."

"A maelstrom? In these waters?" For one second Jonathan worried that he would be called mentally unstable. But instead, the captain's eyes opened wide. "Could it have been the Red Queen?"

"Pardon?"

Jonathan had heard that name, but couldn't place where.

The captain lit up his tobacco pipe.

"A rumour about these waters, or a legend if you prefer. Of a monster that turns the waters red, and devours anything in its path." He blew out a plume of heady smoke. "Very few have survived, and those who have, died soon after."

The red lights, the tentacled abomination. They matched the story. But surely it had all been a hallucination? 

"That can't be true." Jonathan blurted out. If it did, perhaps he was doomed as well.

"I hope not, sir. Because if it is, you don't have much time left."

They reached Port Royal that same night. Jonathan was too preoccupied to take in the new sights. He was trying to make sense of all that had happened in the span of two days. Alas, science couldn't help him at the moment. So instead, he asked for directions to the Pembroke Hospital, where he was surely awaited.

The streets were dark and quiet as his feet carried him to the building. It was a far cry from the uproar and cheer of the pubs at the docks. The hospital was still in construction, but it was quite sizable for such a small town. Jonathan idly wondered if it was thanks to a generous patron.

He rapped with his knuckles at the closed doors. He was unpleasantly aware of his less than presentable looks when the nurse on the other side eyed him with a frown.

"We are closed at these hours." She stated. "Unless it's an emergency, come back tomorrow morning."

"Wait!" Jonathan planted his foot against the door. A rude gesture that had surely worsened the nurse’s impression of him. "You are mistaken. I am doctor Jonathan Reid. I was expected to come."

The nurse said nothing, but her eyes communicated he was being doubted. 

"Wait here for a second." She slammed the door closed. Jonathan was about to accept that he wouldn't be allowed in until the door reopened at the last moment.

This time, the nurse was accompanied by a man wearing glasses. He also examined Jonathan thoroughly before declaring:

"That is indeed Jonathan Reid!" He offered a small smile. "Apologies. We didn't expect to see you in your current… appearance."

"Are you sure it's him?" The nurse frowned once again.

The man opened the door further, welcoming Jonathan in.

"Indeed. I have seen him during one of his conferences." He seemed all too enthusiastic. He then turned towards Jonathan. "I am doctor Edgar Swansea. I believe we have communicated through letters."

Jonathan shook the offered hand.

"Pleasure to finally meet you in person. I am extremely sorry for appearing in such a disheveled state. The ship I was travelling in has unfortunately sunk."

Jonathan followed doctor Swansea to his office. The hospital was bigger on the inside, with many patients sleeping in their cots. Jonathan saw other nurses and doctors wander about, seemingly busy despite the late hour.

"Deeply sorry to hear that." Said Swansea. "You will be able to clean up properly in your office. We just have to finish up some paperwork."

Jonathan sat hesitantly on the offered armchair. He was worried he would dirty the expensive velvet cushioning it. The warmth and pleasant silence of the room seemed to put Jonathan at ease, if only slightly, as he signed his name in ink.

"One last thing," Doctor Swansea traced a finger over a human skull sitting on his desk. "I would like to hear the exact circumstances of your sinking, for research purposes. Whenever you are ready, of course." 

There was something slightly off with the skull. Perhaps the shape, perhaps the texture of the bones. Jonathan couldn't quite place it, and simply disregarded it as the poor lighting and his current exhaustion.

One of the nurses brought clean water to Jonathan's office. The doctor examined his own wounds as he washed up with a sponge. He was sure he had received many cuts, but none were to be found. The bruises around his body were also in the process of disappearing, with the exception of a large one on his chest. Perhaps he had spent longer adrift than he had initially perceived. 

Exhausted as he was, he fell asleep almost instantly, and had a long, dreamless sleep. The following morning, he awoke with the first sun rays of the day. There was a constant cry of seagulls and the familiar scent of sea brine. Jonathan found a clean set of clothes by his desk, more adequate for a man of his status than the rags his former clothes had become.

As he dressed, he noticed the injury on his chest yet again, or rather that it didn’t seem like one. It was a red splotch right over his heart, and seemed to overlap with it and its main blood vessels with eerie precision. It didn’t hurt, or feel any different than healthy skin. He had never seen a bruise like that, and feared it could have been related to the curse the captain had talked about. He decided not to concern himself at the moment, and focus on the hospital and meeting his colleagues and patients. It was going to be a long day.

“Ah, good morning, Doctor Reid.” The first person he found was the nurse from the previous night, who seemed in better spirits. “Doctor Swansea has asked me to show you around for your first day. I am Dorothy Crane, by the way.”

Jonathan shook her hand. She had a soft but determined grip. Her apron was stained with old blood, proof that she was more than ready to dirty her hands to save lives. Many fellow doctors had believed that women were too weak-spirited, too sensitive, for the medical field, but Jonathan knew better. 

"Thank you, nurse Crane. I believe I haven't properly introduced myself. I'm Doctor Jonathan Reid, pleasure to meet you."

Nurse Crane smiled.

"Pleasure is mine. And no need for formalities, doctor. You may call me Dorothy."

Dorothy gave him a tour around the building. The unfinished areas were mostly external, so on the inside the hospital was fully functional. Jonathan was introduced to the other two nurses, Hawkins and Branagan, as well as the other doctors. Tippets seemed wise and experienced, though working too much for his age. Ackroyd and Strickland had opposing ideas on medicine, Ackroyd preferring the tried and tested while the youthful Strickland was excited to experiment. When Dorothy and Jonathan found them, they were arguing about the appropriate treatment for a patient’s arm injury. Dorothy reassured Jonathan that he didn’t have to worry much about them, implying that their fights were a common sight for the staff. 

Jonathan was lead outside for the final part of the tour. Across the well kept courtyard was the morgue. The one keeping charge was Rakesh Chadana. The calm man greeted them as they passed through the double doors. The bodies of the recently deceased were kept in the basement, away from the sunlight and tropical weather that would speed up the process of decomposition. As expected for a period of relative peace in the Caribbean, the room was mostly empty save for a single body, tastefully covered head to toe in a thick, white sheet.

“Doctor Swansea has asked me to give you your first case.” Dorothy explained, as she handed him a document with the details. Jonathan recited aloud as he skimmed through.

“Unidentified man. Found on the beach, probably washed ashore.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow at the description of the body. Despite the cause of dead being listed as multiple stab wounds, the man showed signs of an unknown condition.

“Scaly skin and deformed face.” He muttered to himself. “Could be leprosy. I will have to examine the body to make sure.”

“Of course, doctor.” Dorothy fidgeted with her hands. “I will stay here in case you need me.”

Dorothy sounded nervous, almost worried. Could it be that she had a disliking for seeing dead bodies? But as a nurse, such was unlikely. 

Jonathan approached the corpse and tugged the sheet off without a second thought. He blinked once, twice, until he was sure his eyes didn’t deceive him.

When the file had mentioned “scales” it wasn’t as in flaking skin, but rather the most literal sense of the word. The man’s face lacked eyebrows. His nose had sunk into two slits, his eyes grown so big that his eyelids couldn’t fully close. Instead of a moustache, he had two long whiskers reminiscent of a catfish’s, right above a mouth that was just a bit too wide.

“What is this?” Jonathan couldn’t still believe what was right in front of him. “Is he… human?”

Dorothy averted her eyes. It was clear now that she wasn’t comfortable with the sight of the creature.

“That’s what Doctor Swansea has been trying to find out. This isn’t the first case we’ve found. Many come in with only scales, or sudden loss of hair. Then they slowly turn into… that. They die soon afterwards.”

Jonathan moved the corpse’s head in order to look closer at the neck area. Small, symmetrical slits have formed in both sides. Pushing a finger inside of one, Jonathan could feel soft bristles inside, and not much farther in, the inside of the trachea.

“These are gills.” Jonathan removed his fingers, now moist with fluid that had remained inside. He hesitantly brought them to his nose, and almost gagged at the smell. As expected, they now reeked of rotting fish. 

“There is a detail Doctor Swansea insisted on showing you.” Dorothy approached the body and, without much enthusiasm, removed the sheet a bit further, revealing the body’s injured chest. 

The man had gill openings right beneath his ribs as well, but the detail that made Jonathan’s blood run cold, was a completely different one. Right above his chest, there was a bright red mark almost identical to Jonathan’s. 

“We have seen this injury in every case of the illness. We still don’t know what causes it.” Dorothy explained, but Jonathan was too concerned with replaying the memories of the shipwreck and the warnings of the captain who had rescued him. “Doctor Reid? Jonathan, are you feeling well?”

Jonathan clutched at his chest. Perhaps it was his shot nerves, but he felt the bruise pulsate and burn against his skin.

“This doesn’t make any sense. Curses aren’t real.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Since other fanfics I'm working on have priority, I can't tell you when the next chapter is coming, I'm afraid. I am still working on the Death Pending rework, as well as some oneshots I work in during breaks.   
> See you all hopefully soon!


	3. Troubled Waters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I'm back!  
> November has been a tough month for me, but I'm hoping to get back into the hang of things now. As thanks for being so patient, have a longer than usual chapter.  
> Hope you enjoy!

"Give him a spoonful a day and in no time he should get better." Jonathan handed the vial of medicine to a very concerned mother and ruffled her child's chestnut hair. It was only a simple cold, and the young boy didn't have much more than a runny nose and a sore throat, but overprotective mothers could only be appeased with a bottle of cough syrup and a doctor's reassurance that there was nothing to worry about.

As the family left, Jonathan stretched his arms and cracked his back. He had now gone through all of his apppintments, which meant he was free to return to his private research. In his room upstairs, he had set up a small laboratory. Vials and beakers with samples, as well as bottles of assorted medicines were carefully arranged on the a-bit-too-small desk. 

He let out a huff and resisted the urge to slam his fist on the wooden surface. The live samples of skin tissue he had collected had advanced in their condition, regardless of any substance used to attempt to slow the progression. Jonathan idly scratched at his arm, until he realised the involuntary action and rolled up his sleeves. Matching the skin on the samples, his own arms had become sore from the uneven growth of scales. The old skin was slowly but noticeably flaking off, as the new one hardened and itched whenever it wasn't kept moist enough. Jonathan dipped his hands in the water bowl and rubbed at his forearms. Curiously enough, it was saltwater that offered the most relief. 

It had been almost a week since Jonathan had arrived at the hospital, and despite the more than rocky start, he had quickly grown accustomed to his new routine. That first morning, after the initial examination of the body at the morgue, Jonathan had demanded a meeting with doctor Swansea. The still rational part of his brain insisted it had all been a very distasteful prank, although deep down he knew it was far from.

"What is the meaning of all this? There's no such thing as curses, and yet these- these unnatural events keep happening around me."

Swansea's knowing glint in his eyes worried him more than provided him with any relief. 

"But they are real, my dear colleague." He held up his skull once again, twisting it so it was facing Jonathan. "Curses and sea monsters, legends and rumours. Many of them exist within this reality."

The odd deformities on the skull still unsettled Jonathan. The eye sockets were too big, and the lower jaw seemed slightly malformed. Not many teeth remained, but the ones that did seemed misplaced.

"That's impossible."

Swansea raised an eyebrow.

"The shipwreck you survived. It was no natural phenomena that caused it, am I correct?"

Jonathan sunk into his chair. Remembering the event proved increasingly difficult with each passing day. The more things seemed to return to normal, the more he convinced himself it was all a product of a vivid imagination and a traumatic experience.

"So it was all real? I didn't hallucinate it?"

Swansea placed down the skull and leant back on his leather armchair. 

"Tell me what you saw."

Jonathan rubbed his eyes. His head still ached with the memory.

"The sea was red. There was a ship made out of blood."  _ Blood _ . That was what came to his mind, but Jonathan had no reason to assume that. So why did he use that word? "It seemed like a spectre, a ghost ship."

Jonathan stopped to look at Swansea's reaction. He seemed attentive, no hint of mockery in his facial features.

"Then a storm arose, and we were attacked by a creature. A monster."

Memories flashed of the abomination he saw under the waves. The many eyes turned towards him and made him shudder. Cold sweat slid down his face.

"Jonathan, can you hear me?" A muffled voice slowly returned him to reality. "Take deep breaths."

It was then Jonathan realised he was hyperventilating. His whole body shook and tensed up as his diaphragm worked overtime to give his lungs fast, shallow breaths.

"You are safe now. We are at Pembroke." Swansea continued. He had placed a hand on the other doctor's shoulder. "We are on land."

Jonathan nodded as he slowly regained control of his body. His heart still raced while the bruise right above it burnt on his skin.

"I am deeply sorry." Swansea returned to his seat. "It was not my intention to cause any pain."

Once he seemed to have calmed down, Jonathan cleaned the sweat off his face with a handkerchief.

"No, I should be the one to apologise. I shouldn't have lost control like that."

The armchair creaked as Swansea sat down again.

"There's still more you should know. If you're ready to hear it, that is."

Jonathan raised his head, and his eyes met with the skull's sockets. 

"I do need to know. Am I going to die?"

A faint smile crossed Swansea's features. Jonathan couldn't tell if it was of pity, or of something else. 

"The true nature of this curse, is to bring men closer to the realm of fish, not to bring them death." Swansea sighed. "Unfortunately, the cases we've had here quickly developed respiratory infections, and the new… anatomy didn't allow us to properly treat them."

Jonathan frowned. There was a lot to take in at once. Partially, he was relieved at the fact that he may not die, but becoming an aquatic abomination wasn't the best alternative, to say the least. 

"Is there any way to stop this?" He stared at his own hands, unconsciously looking for any initial sign of the transformation.

One week later, he would still lose himself in thought looking at his hands, which now presented slight hints of the change. Aside from the scales, there was also the skin between his fingers steadily extending. Though so far, he seemed to be the only one to have noticed.

According to Edgar, as doctor Swansea insisted to be called by the younger doctor, there was nothing to be done about it. Most of those who survived the change had to flee from society, never to be seen again. 

“The only solution is to break the curse.” Jonathan repeated out loud what Edgar had told him. The problem was that no one knew how. Still, he researched as much as he could. He examined skin samples in different phases side by side, studied previous cases and the progression of the curse. Not much progress seemed to be done, but it was better than nothing.

Thanks to the kindness of Edgar, Jonathan was allowed to research uninterrupted until nightfall, when he ran out of ideas. He had also skipped a meal, so it was best he took a break and fetched something from the kitchens. He stretched his aching muscles, moisturised his irritated skin with saltwater once more, and went downstairs.

He had barely started eating the stew when the city bells rang. He ignored them at first, until he saw the medical staff and patients move around frantically. Dorothy Crane was the one that got him to finally stand up.

“What are you doing here? We are being attacked!” She took the bowl off his hands and pulled Jonathan away, who let himself be dragged along.

“What? By whom?”

He looked out of the window to the courtyard outside, where everything seemed calm under the light of the moon.

“Didn’t you hear the bells?” Dorothy seemed more impatient with each passing second. “Pirates are on our waters! We must move the patients to a safer place, and Swansea is going to send doctors to the militia for medical support.”

Having just arrived at Port Royal, Jonathan had hoped the calm would have lasted for longer. He had been aware of the risks of the job, of course. Everybody knew piracy reigned in the waters of the Caribbean, despite the Empire claiming they had it under control. He simply had wished for more time to acclimate himself given his current ordeal.

Jonathan followed Dorothy to finish moving the patients, when Edgar crossed their path.

"Ah, here you are!" He seemed too chipper considering the situation. "Jonathan, head to the fort and bring in some first aid supplies, will you? And watch out for the cannon balls on the way."

Of course Jonathan would be sent in, having previous experiences in the military unlike his fellow doctors. It didn't mean he was keen on crossing the town with the threat of cannons. Thankfully, the way there was calm, or as much as rushing past streets full of panicked civilians could be. The pirates hadn't yet reached land, but had successfully destroyed some houses and watchtowers. The fort stood tall despite the gaping hole in the mortar and stone walls.

"Are you the doctor?" A uniformed man approached. By the looks of it, he seemed like the General. 

"I am. Is anyone injured?"

The General swiftly led him to the barracks, where a couple of injured soldiers rested on the cots. To everyone's relief, it was all minor wounds, caused by the impact of the cannonball on the building. Jonathan was finishing bandaging a sprained ankle when a soldier rushed in.

"They have reached land!" He shouted as sweat beaded down his face. "We need medical support at the docks!"

Jonathan patted the wounded soldier's leg before letting it down on the hay mattress. 

"I will be on my way then." He stood up, determined. He knew what that entailed. "Do you have any weapons I may borrow?"

The soldier let him take a sword and a pistol. Though he was a healer first and a fighter second, Jonathan was ready to defend himself if need be. It wouldn't be the first time he had taken a human life.

Running down the hill and into the streets along with the soldier squad, it was clear that the front lines had been overpowered and pirates had started to make way farther into town. A woman screamed across a broken front door, and Jonathan and a few other soldiers rushed into the house for her aid.

Whatever the appearance the pirates could have, Jonathan certainly never expected that. He almost froze in place at the sight, as the mark on his chest palpitated once more and his brain tried to comprehend what was in front of him. Underneath the ragged clothes, the two pirates had a scaly skin. One of them was bald, with big, uneven fish eyes. The other had spiked fins atop his head, mimicking a mohawk. However it had happened, they had also been cursed, and turned into fishmen.

Jonathan wasn't granted much time to properly take a look, as soon both soldiers and pirates clashed swords. 

"Doctor! The woman!" Someone shouted out, and that pushed him out of his trance. He stepped out of combat and crouched under the dining table, where the middle aged woman had sought shelter. She was terrified, but to Jonathan's relief she was unharmed. Once those pirates had been dealt with, the soldiers rushed out of the house and farther down the docks, stifling any chance for him to properly examine the bodies.

The docks were a proper bloodshed. Though the Port Royale defenses had superiority in numbers, the pirates inexplicably had killed many soldiers, while none of them had fallen. Jonathan didn't hesitate to hop into the action, shielding a man that had tumbled onto the sand. Despite his developed interdigital membranes, Jonathan's opponent had a strong grip on his sword. The doctor found the pirate's catfish whiskers and wide mouth very distracting, but he saw him pull up a gun just in time to dodge the bullet. He rolled backwards to find cover behind a wall of sacks and barrels someone had set up. At least the city guard had had the foresight to set up the area for the inevitable combat. 

Jonathan had very little time to catch his breath before the fishman approached. His eyes quickly darted down at the ground and then at the pirate. He wasn't proud of playing dirty, but when it came to life or death the choice was an easy one. The sand hit the fishman's eyes and sent him back. Jonathan focused all his strength at a perfectly aimed strike, piercing the man's abdomen and then twisting the blade. It was a sure death, he regretted as the pirate fell to his knees.

Or it would have been normally. After a few instants, blood stopped staining the ragged shirt, and he stood up as if nothing had happened.

"What? How-" Jonathan was interrupted by a cackle right behind him. Another pirate had decided to target him, and Jonathan flinched when the cold blade pierced his back, right under his right shoulder blade. The sword slid out with a squelch as Jonathan clutched at his bleeding chest. The pain with every breath was a clear sign that his lung had been punctured.

Still, he had the strength to fight. He blocked a second strike with his own sword, and thanks to the element of surprise, the opponent's weapon flew off his slimy hand. Jonathan knew better than to try and kill his rival. The more the battle raged on, the more it became clear that those fishmen wouldn't be killed by regular means. The number of injured soldiers had increased and he realised where his true battle was.

"Doctor Reid!" A familiar voice called out to him when he retreated to the backlines. Jonathan slumped against the nearest wall as Dr. Strickland ran to his aid.

"What happened? I was sent here to provide additional support." 

As the proper medic he was, Thoreau didn't wait for a response before ripping off Jonathan's coat and shirt to reveal the wound. And Jonathan didn't bother replying. His eyes had set on the same soldier he had rescued minutes ago, injured but safe and sound, and felt a strange inner peace in knowing he'd at least saved another's life.

"What a relief! I thought it was your own blood." Thoreau stood up and Jonathan's head whipped towards him. "You should have said so sooner. Awful sorry for ruining your clothes." 

Jonathan pawed at the bare skin of his chest. It was still bloody but there was no cut to be seen, and the pain had subsided as well. Relief mixed in with a foreboding feeling of dread at what that meant. What was the true nature of the curse? The apparent immortality of the pirates, and now him, defied any natural law.

Things seemed to go from bad to worse, as another pirate ship approached at full speed. Atop the mast, a flag with a big letter "P" painted on flew tall and proud. Jonathan and Thoreau hurried to heal as many soldiers as they could before they'd be forced to retreat and abandon some of the worse off ones. The incoming ship shot her cannons, and Jonathan braced for the impact.

None of them reached land. In fact, none were aimed towards the city at all. Some cannonballs had fallen into the water, while two of them had successfully torn through the fishmen ship's hull. Some sailors jumped aboard the now sinking ship, while others were rowing to shore to confront the pirates on the beach. All of them looked completely human.

"Who are they?" A soldier wondered out loud.

"They're also pirates. Kill them without mercy!" The General ordered.

"Wait!" Jonathan stood up at once. "They seem to be on our side."

The General was unamused. A small cut on his forehead had soaked his brow with blood and sand.

"They're pirates." He growled between his teeth.

"But sir," Another soldier protested. "They are fighting the fishmen."

Their heads turned towards the battlefield. Not only were they fighting them, they were successfully killing them.

"Very well. Let them kill each other then."

The battle didn't last much longer after that. The human pirates were fierce, their guns and swords seemingly effective against the immortal fishmen. The fishmen were starting to die, and Jonathan couldn't find the explanation. 

"For Priwen!" A man with a dark coat and red scarf raised his sword up in the air, and the others followed the lead. It would be safe to assume that he was the Captain, and "Priwen" the name of the vessel.

The fishmen's ship finally saw her fate at the bottom of the sea, and the remaining crew on land decided to retreat. Where they were going was a mystery to all, since they seemed to simply submerge underwater and disappear from sight. It was quite a surreal sight, Jonathan thought, though it made sense given their nature.

The Priwen pirates and the Port Royal military forces were the only ones left on the beach. These very human sailors that still remained were mostly unharmed or lightly injured, from what Jonathan could gather. They had truly done something not even trained soldiers could achieve. 

But the General only saw that as a threat. He ordered his men to raise arms at the pirates who, in response, dropped their weapons and held their hands up in the air. The one Jonathan had identified as Captain approached with determined steps. He was rugged, with a weeks old stubble and piercing blue eyes. He was roughly Jonathan's age, and the wrinkles on his face and scars on his skin revealed that he was as well travelled, if not more. 

"Halt! By the order of the authorities of Port Royale you and your men have been arrested." Shouted the General.

The man seemed less than amused, but kept his hands up and a cautious stance.

"This is how you treat your saviours?" He growled with a clear Irish accent, quite unusual in these corners of the world. "We are not pirates, we are the Guard of Priwen. We're warriors, hunters." 

Slowly, the apparent Priwen leader hid a hand under his coat. Seconds stretched as he rummaged around until he produced a set of folded papers, which he then threw to the feet of the General.

"Here is your proof." 

The General silently read the documents and finally nodded at his men, who lowered his weapons, though many were still visibly tense. 

"And what do you hunt exactly, pray tell?"

The other man spat on the ground.

"Curses, abominations. The sea is infested with them, any sailor worth their weight will confirm you that." 

The General raised an eyebrow. 

"Very well then. But don't expect any reward for your service. We don't appreciate trouble here in Port Royale, either."

He ordered a few soldiers to stay put, while the rest retreated back to the fort, leaving the labour of cleaning up the beach for the Priwen sailors. 

Though everything had seemed to have been solved, many questions were swimming in Jonathan's head. However, if that man had been telling the truth and they were indeed hunters for the supernatural, then perhaps he was the right person to ask about the curse ailing him. Plus, the bodies of the deceased fish men could be significant for his research. 

As soon as Jonathan descended the wooden stairs into the sand, a sword was pointed right at the center of his chest.

"Not a single step farther,  _ loach _ ." 

Jonathan's eyebrows shot upwards. Loach? Was that meant as an insult? It certainly was a laughable one despite the venom in the man's worth. Before Jonathan could reply, the captain continued.

"You may have fooled your peers, but I know what you are. It's just a matter of time before your true nature becomes clear."

His eyes kept darting to the red mark on Jonathan's chest, the mark of his curse, and right where the cold metal of the sword was against his skin. Jonathan didn't dare to defy his orders, knowing full well that the man was capable of ending his life. Thankfully, Strickland had overheard the conversation, and immediately jumped to Jonathan's defence.

"What is this behaviour? That is no way to treat an excellent doctor such as Jonathan Reid!" 

The captain glared at Thoreau, but lowered his sword with a grimace.

"Doctor Jonathan Reid." He repeated, locking eyes at Jonathan, who returned the stare. "Don't think you're off the hook yet." 

Neither of them backed away, keeping the staring competition for as long as they could. Despite everything, Jonathan couldn't help finding those intense blue eyes fascinating.

"Doctor Reid?" Jonathan heard Thoreau call from behind. "We should head back."

Jonathan remained stubbornly looking at the captain, who was doing the same. 

"I am not a threat to you or any of your crew. I am simply trying to understand the nature of this curse." He spoke as calmly as he could.

The captain barked a mocking laugh.

"Hah! The day I believe your kind is the day I lose my mind."

Jonathan didn't quite understand. It was clear that the man had answers, but he was also unwilling to give them to him. Why did he see him as a threat instead of a victim?

"Captain McCullum!" A sailor trotted their way. "We've found something you might want to see."

It was then that they broke eye contact, McCullum spitting on the sand before stepping back.

"Lead the way then. And prepare a patrol to keep an eye on the hospital. It seems to be infested with eels."

The captain left, but Jonathan knew he would have no chance to investigate the scene. Even assuming they didn't attack him on sight when he approached, they had already dealt with most of the fishmen bodies that had been scattered. They were now burning in a pile, being reduced to nothing but ashes.

"Is something the matter?" Thoreau asked, clearly confused about the exchange. Jonathan closed his shirt as best as he could.

"Nothing. Let us return."

The more he pried into the subject, the more questions arose. In a way, there was a certain thrill on solving the mystery, Jonathan's passion for enigmas and scavenger hunts resurfacing for the first time in years. Though it was certainly muddled in with the fear of the unknown. Of not knowing what was exactly going to happen to him, or what to expect in the upcoming days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> The Death Pending rework is on the way! I've been slowly working on things though not as fast as I would have liked to.


End file.
